


Perfection? Says Who?

by crane_wings



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Megatron fails at matchmaking, Rodimus has no sense of color coordination, Ultra Magnus' OCD, brief mention of genital trauma, how the hell do I tag this thing?, spike painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crane_wings/pseuds/crane_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which mechs painting their spikes is a thing. Rodimus is not exactly the best with a paintbrush, poor Ultra Magnus’ self control is tested and Megatron reluctantly gets involved in the mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection? Says Who?

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the chat during one of herzspalter’s nsfw livestreams where someone mentioned robots painting their spikes for special occasions.
> 
> Here, I guess it's a more common occurrence for Cybertronians to paint their spikes. Some even invite their close friend(s) to watch.

“How about it, Magnus?”

“No.”

It was a common enough activity amongst Cybertronians, a sign of camaraderie and trust between bots. Ultra Magnus knew it was rude to pointblank refuse – to his Captain, no less – but he wanted nothing to do with this particular pastime.

“Aw, come on, Mags. It’s always work, work, work with you. Loosen up a bit.”

“It’s Ultra Magnus, not _Mags_. And if you took the time to actually _do_ your work, Captain, I wouldn’t always be so busy with the backlog of paperwork.”

He purposely ignored the “loosen up” part. The first and only time Rodimus convinced him to try and relax ended with a massive hangover and corrupted files in his memory banks. Ultra Magnus couldn’t remember everything that happened on Hedonia, but the way Swerve conspiratorially grinned up at him the day after had him swearing off engex for the rest of his existence. Never again.

“Yeah, yeah. You can lecture me later, Mags. Are you gonna come watch me paint my spike or not?”

“It’s  _Ultra Magnus_ and my answer has not changed. I have work to do. If you need an audience, ask someone else.”

-x-x-

“Should I start with a light color or a dark color for the base?”

It was probably blasphemous to think this of a former Prime, but Ultra Magnus couldn’t help but note that – heroics aside – Rodimus would have made a fearsome Decepticon. The younger bot’s sheer manipulative prowess could put _Starscream’s_ performances to shame. It was the only possible explanation for why he was currently seated in Rodimus’ quarters, watching his Captain contemplate the admittedly impressive selection of temporary paints on display.

“Hmm. Light, I guess. Maybe something bright. Seems more heroic, yeah?”

Yes, Ultra Magnus thought, if Rodimus had been built by the Decepticons instead of the Autobots…

He carefully kept his expression completely neutral as Rodimus chose neon yellow.

-x-x-

Around the third base color change – an electric green that clashed horribly with Rodimus’ red and orange armor – Ultra Magnus considered the possibility of recharging through the rest of this without being too obvious about it. Rodimus asked for his opinion every now and then but didn’t seem to care if he received an answer or not, so surely a quick recharge wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe he could rig the outer armor to look awake while Minimus Ambus took a nap underneath. It would be a gross misuse of the honored Magnus Armor, but…well…

Rodimus reached for the hot pink to paint the ridges of his spike.

He doubted Tyrest had ever had to sit through something like this, so the former Chief Justice’s opinions about the Magnus Armor’s uses had no bearing here.

-x-x-

Around the seventh color change – it looked like Rodimus had given up on a single base color and was now using a veritable rainbow of paints that _still_ clashed with his armor – someone pinged a request for entrance.

“Rodimus, where is the datapad with the medbay’s invent—” Megatron managed two steps into the room before the scene in front of him really registered, and he froze with the strangest look on his face.

For the first time in his life, Ultra Magnus was genuinely pleased to see Megatron. He certainly had his reservations about the former warlord, but he couldn’t deny that Megatron was a more productive Captain – in terms of getting the endless paperwork done – than Rodimus. He didn’t like the mech, most likely never would, but anything to distract him from the rainbow nightmare fuel forming before his optics was welcome. Good Primus, as if the colors weren’t bad enough, Rodimus couldn’t paint a straight line if his life depended on it.

This was his chance to politely excuse himself from the room. Work was calling his designation, and if he didn’t get out now, he might give in to temptation and personally fix the crooked lines Rodimus continued to paint. His fingers were already twitching despite his rigid self-control.

While Ultra Magnus hurriedly tried to find the words to politely escape without seeming to escape, red optics slowly drifted from his Co-captain’s messily colorful spike to the shelves and shelves of paint to the second-in-command’s stoic yet slightly strained countenance. “My apologies…for interrupting.”

The former warlord then sharply inclined his head and spun around to walk right back out the door, muttering to himself, “It’s _another_ fragging Starscream.”

That was not supposed to happen. That was _not_ supposed to happen! Ultra Magnus shook off the shock and desperately tried to grasp onto the rapidly closing window of opportunity. Forget saving face, if he stayed any longer he’d lose his dignity anyway. “Wait! What about the data—” But the door slid shut with grim finality.

After a moment of silence, Rodimus rolled his optics at the door and snorted, “What a fragger.” He then looked down at his spike with a grin, Megatron already forgotten. “Hey, Magnus, look at this! Not too bad, huh?”

Despite his better judgment, Ultra Magnus looked and found he couldn’t tear his optics away from his Captain’s spike. His fingers twitched a little more violently. With a heavy and somewhat shaky ex-vent, he tightly clenched his fists to hide the spasms.

No, he decided, he would never come to like Megatron. _Ever_.

-x-x-

Two color changes later, Rodimus declared himself perfect and posed with his hands on his hips.

Ultra Magnus stared fixedly at his Captain’s spike for a long while, long enough for even the ever vain Rodimus to start fidgeting under the intense scrutiny.

Then something in him snapped.

-x-x-

Megatron didn’t question why they were seated together in a desolate corner of Swerve’s bar, and Ultra Magnus was glad for it. He still hated the mech, but the company was appreciated.

The former warlord took a sip from the cup of strength-draining energon with a slight grimace, knowing that if he didn’t start the conversation, they’d both be sitting there for all eternity. “So, based on the fact that Rodimus is now avoiding _you_ rather than _me_ , something unpleasant happened?”

When there was no response, physically or verbally, Megatron continued, “Does this have anything to do with what I walked in on a few days ago?”

Silver fingers twitched spontaneously.

“I see.”

Blue optics narrowed skeptically. “Do you really?”

Megatron put the cup down and folded his hands together. “Have you forgotten that _Starscream_ was my second for millions of years? His arrogance and treachery were only rivalled by his vanity. He believed those below him were not _worthy_ enough to watch him paint and preen. So, who do you think constantly received invitations to his private quarters?”

Ultra Magnus processed the information then returned to his sullen brooding.

Megatron resisted the urge to roll his optics. Why did he ever think joining this crew was a good idea? It was constant drama, much like those foolish yet addictive shows the humans created. Soap operas, he believed they were called.

He spared a quick moment to regret never finding out who the sire of Donna’s sparkling was before returning his attention back to the current drama playing out right in front of him. “Let me guess. Rodimus spent hours painting his spike and in the end went back to what he started with?”

Silver hands clenched and Ultra Magnus growled lowly, “Six hours. _Six_ hours! Does he have any idea how much work I could have completed in that time? And for what? _Nothing_!” He banged his fist against the table, knocking over Megatron’s cup, and continued heedless of the spilled energon, “They were the _exact_ same colors, in _supposedly_ the same patterns. He should have just cleaned off all the paint he slathered on if he wanted to go with his natural colors!”

He bit back a frustrated snarl, “‘Can’t change perfection,’ he said. _Perfection_! There was nothing _perfect_ about how he painted. Everything was _crooked_ and—and just _off_!” Ultra Magnus vented harshly several times after getting that off his chest plates, finally calm enough to feel somewhat embarrassed about his outburst. He looked back up at the former warlord who had patiently listened with a disgustingly understanding look on his face. With a final ex-vent, Ultra Magnus dropped back down into his seat. Wonderful, he now had a genocidal maniac sympathizing with him. “What did you do when Starscream pulled that stunt?”

 “Ah. I was, of course, rather displeased with him for wasting my time. So, I responded to his casual disregard for my busy schedule by _casually_ ripping off his spike.” Megatron shrugged at the gob smacked look directed at him. “He had it fixed, and a few vorns later, he started sending invitations again.”

“…Again? After you…did that?”

“As I said before, Starscream is prideful and vain. Self-preservation isn’t as high a priority as showing off.” Megatron shook off those memories and addressed his current companion. “And you? You’re nowhere near as extreme as I am, so what did _you_ do to Rodimus?”

Ultra Magnus tensed up again and resisted the urge to fidget under Megatron’s amused gaze. Still, he forced the words out through his discomfort. “I– the paint was asymmetrical. And messily done. And I was… _angry_ that I spent six hours doing nothing. So…I tackled him, pinned him down and…well, fixed it. I, ah, repainted his spike. _Neatly_.”

Embarrassment warred with shame at his actions.

Being invited to watch a mech paint his spike was an acknowledgement. It was the equivalent of saying “I trust you even when I’m vulnerable.” That was why he hadn’t just walk out on Rodimus no matter how much he had wanted to. He hadn’t wanted to spit at the trust his Captain offered so freely.

Except, he kind of did anyway.

A part of him wanted to be positive. Ultra Magnus was sure that if he hadn’t let his obsessive compulsive tendencies take over, he would have strangled Rodimus, which would have been even worse. But, that was cold comfort considering he shouldn’t have lost control in the first place. And now, Rodimus was avoiding him. _Successfully,_ at that.

He needed to figure out a way to fix this mess as soon as possible. His productivity had dropped in the last three days, and he…sort of missed having his Captain around. Rodimus was akin to a constant buzzing in his audials. Something highly irritating in the beginning until one became accustomed to it, then it faded into the usual background noise. If it disappeared, the absence felt strangely noticeable, a deafening silence that was far more distracting than the noise itself.

“I…earlier, you said Rodimus isn’t avoiding you. When you see him again, Megatron, could I ask you to pass a message to him?”

“Oh?” The former warlord raised a brow. “A message?”

Ultra Magnus nervously reset his vocalizer. “I would like to apologize to him for my actions. It would hardly be appropriate of me to ask his forgiveness through another mech, so I would like to meet with him in person. When he feels comfortable, of course. Any location would be fine with me. He—my comm. is always open for him.”

The second-in-command had apparently pulled himself together a bit and was once again stiff and formal, but there was still an undercurrent of intense emotions barely visible beneath the calm exterior.

Megatron was not a nice mech. He had killed and destroyed too much to be anything less than a hardened war-monger. Yet, as he considered the awkward mech sitting in front of him, he just felt exasperated. As amusing as the situation had been in the beginning, he had no desire to see this drama dragged out any longer. Both Rodimus and Ultra Magnus were acting like obtuse idiots, and Megatron refused to be involved any further than he already was. This situation needed to be dealt with _now_.

“I do not mind passing on the message to my…Co-captain. Before I do, though, there is something I need you to do for me. A favor for a favor, as it were.” Megatron watched as the other’s mask cracked and a range of emotion flickered over his face, from disbelief to anger and indignation to reluctant acceptance. He continued before Ultra Magnus could speak, “I seem to have acquired some sort of… _vermin_ in my office. There’s only one but it’s _annoying_ and difficult to ignore. Quite bright as well, very _eye catching_. The red and orange looks rather garish to me, but I suppose vermin exist to be irritating. If you get it out of my office, I will pass your message on to Rodimus. Do we have an accord, Ultra Magnus?”

He was not a nice mech, and Megatron was well aware of that fact – embraced it even – but, that didn’t mean he couldn’t toss out a little reward for all the hard work Ultra Magnus did day in and day out.

Well, that and Megatron certainly admired anyone who could put up with Rodimus on a daily basis. It had only been three days, but he was already tired of dealing with the constant stream of confused whining and childish insults.

Megatron thanked all the deities he didn’t believe in that Rodimus had been created by the Autobots and not the Decepticons. The younger mech’s oratory skill and unrelenting tenacity would have propelled him up the Decepticon ranks and probably right into his inner circle. Megatron fought back a shudder. It was a highly unpleasant thought, and he was thankful that that particular scenario had never played out.

_One_ Starscream had been more than enough.

-x-x-

“You know,” Megatron later spoke as Ultra Magnus prepared to leave. “Rodimus is not as…averse to your actions as you think.”

“What do you mean? He has been avoiding me for days.”

“How should I put this?” Megatron smirked at the confused frown. “Rodimus appreciates your, ah, _steady hands_. At least, that’s what I picked up from the senseless babble that comes out of his vocalizer. Apparently, your actions were…quite _pleasing_ in the end. He just doesn’t know how to express his… _enlightenment_ , you could say.”

“…I see. I am relieved to hear that the end product appeals to Rodimus’ tastes. Symmetry _is_ far more aesthetically pleasing than asymmetry.” Ultra Magnus nodded to himself, feeling a little more hopeful for the coming confrontation.

“…Symmetry…right, of course.” Had he been any less resolute about reforming himself, Megatron would have hurled the table at Ultra Magnus’ face. As it was, his smirk only faltered a little as Ultra Magnus nodded a farewell and left. How could two mechs be so oblivious?

Whatever. He had already gotten far more involved in this than he had ever intended. As long as Rodimus was dragged out of his office, those two could dance circles around each other to their sparks’ content.

Honestly, the sheer amount of drama on this ship was ridiculous.

Ex-venting, Megatron looked around the bar and surreptitiously caught the optics of one particular mech. He tilted his helm in a silent query.

Across the bar, Rung’s lips curved up in a conspiratory smile.

All things considered, it had been a productive day, and he now had a night of excellent stress relief to look forward to. Satisfied, Megatron smiled back.

-x-x-

Random tidbits:

-Sometime during the painting session, Rodimus had made a brave attempt at little racing stripes. Ultra Magnus shuddered every time the memory file of that travesty spontaneously popped up. It happened often enough that he seriously considered dosing himself with engex in the hopes of corrupting that particular file. It wasn’t until he was looking down at Swerve with the request on his tongue that the gravity of what he was about to do hit him. The file chose that time to replay itself. The next morning, Ultra Magnus woke up with a massive processorache while the memory file was as clear as ever. Swerve was giving him that grin again. He couldn’t remember why.

-While pinned under Ultra Magnus, Rodimus found that he kind of liked having Magnus’ hands on him. Okay, change that, he really _really_ enjoyed the entire situation. It was a very confusing time for him.

-Rodimus decided to haunt Megatron’s office because he knew it was one of the last places Ultra Magnus would expect him to be. Actually, any place frequented by Megatron was normally guaranteed to be Rodimus-free. Megatron was not amused by the invasion into his office space, but he figured it was preferable to finding Rodimus in his private quarters.

-During his time on Earth, Megatron became secretly addicted to _As the Kitchen Sinks_. He had sneered at the concept of soap operas at first (he had more than enough drama in his daily life, thank you very much), but morbid curiosity got the better of him. Megatron had only intended to watch one episode so he could mock it. Unfortunately, he got hooked and it turned into his dirty little Earth secret. At some point, he accidentally walked in on Ravage watching _As the Kitchen Sinks_. It had been awkward for both of them. Afterwards though, they totally became soap opera bros.

-Ravage hopes to run into Thundercracker someday and finally learn who the father of Donna’s baby was. He had Megatron on long distance speed comm. in case that ever happened. They are both optimistic.


End file.
